


it's not easy, having yourself a good time

by higgsburied



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, i don't even know what okay just something., this started off as fluff but then something happened.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/higgsburied/pseuds/higgsburied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maxwell tries to convince Wilson to leave the lab, for once.<br/>---</p>
<p>So I've seen it pointed out a few times that there is next-to-no fluff for this pairing (or really, next-to-no anything that isn't noncon/dubcon). I promise I wanted this to be nothing but fluff, but then -</p>
<p>Lots of shoulder shrugging from me.</p>
<p>Anyway, I haven't published anything for this fandom yet, I hope it's okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not easy, having yourself a good time

Convincing Wilson to leave the house was such an unnecessarily long and arduous process that Maxwell often wondered why he bothered trying. He was always holed up in his lab in the basement, muttering to himself, and it could take a good twenty minutes before he even realized Maxwell was standing there, looming over him. He’d ask, “Oh, when did you get in?”

And then, because Maxwell is a gentleman and certainly not the jerk Wilson frequently makes him out to be, Maxwell will say “Just now.” And then, “What are you working on?”

He used to think it was a brush-off when Wilson would give a vague answer, and once requested that Wilson tell him exactly what it was. After approximately two weeks of this, when Wilson was describing that what he was creating would essentially mimic the process of photosynthesis but with the variables reversed (he thinks), Maxwell held a hand up and said that if it would take longer than thirty seconds to explain, not to bother. Wilson had smirked at him, and it would have been infuriating if that confidence wasn’t so rare.

Today wasn’t any different. Wilson shrugged his shoulders. “A project.”

“Ah.” Maxwell waits for a few minutes, watching him work. Just long enough for Wilson to start feeling self-conscious, getting ready to ask _Can I help you with something?_ before Maxwell puts logic to the test first and says, “You should really take a break, stretch your legs, pal.”

Ideally, Wilson will realize that Maxwell is right, and at least come upstairs and _eat something for God’s sake, you look like you’re starving to death_. But on this night, like so others, Wilson barely even acknowledges the concern, humming to show he’s heard Maxwell.

And since that isn’t a real answer or a request for him to leave, Maxwell will stand there, giving Wilson a few minutes to register what he’s just been asked to do, before Maxwell pulls the cigar from his jacket pocket and lights it up. The smoke won’t reach Wilson’s nose immediately, and when it does he waves the air in annoyance. “You really shouldn’t smoke down here. You remember what happened last time.” But Maxwell ignores him, blowing a ring of smoke right in his face.

Wilson stops working for a second, sighing. “Please,” he asks.

Maxwell nods, putting it out. But he doesn’t leave. Just when Wilson thinks it’s safe to continue Maxwell presses behind him, wrapping arms around his stomach and leaning his head on Wilson’s shoulder. “Stop working,” he says, more like a command than a request. Wilson won’t, not until Maxwell physically drags him away from the work bench, Wilson half-laughing at the desperation of it.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, although he can’t turn around to ask it, the hold around his middle too tight.

“I want to go out,” Maxwell says, right in his ear.

“You just got _in_ ,” Wilson points out. He manages to elbow Maxwell in the chest and turn around, leaving his hold.

Grown men should never pout – Maxwell is a firm believer in this, but he’s doing something with his face that comes awfully close to it and reminds Wilson of the dog he had as a child. “You know that isn’t the point,” he says. He won’t cross his arms, but the attitude is there all the same.

Wilson rubs the back of his neck, sheepish, guilty. “I know you don’t want to be stuck in here all the time, but I need to finish this – this project I’m working on…”

He knows Wilson hates it when he sighs at him. His eyes always look like he’s been told the worst thing in the world. That’s he’s failed his courses, probably. “You’ve been saying that for three months,” he reminds him.

“It _is_ for class,” Wilson reminds back. He has to look away, has to defend himself somehow. “I have to work twice as hard as everyone else, I’m still on probation –“

“I don’t see why.” _This again._

“How could you not? It’s your fault!” _It is, it is._

“How is it my fault?” _Isn’t it obvious?_

“You’re not supposed to sleep with your students!” _Not that he’s the only one._

“I never heard you complain.” Wilson isn’t sure if Maxwell is pleased with himself or genuinely curious, but they’ve had this discussion more than once.

He doesn’t feel like dragging it out, but also he’s tired of being made to feel like a cheap slut by the school board and teachers and his own classmates. “I was afraid you’d give me a failing grade,” he says bitterly. That seems to shut him up.

It seems to shut him up too well. Wilson doesn’t take long to realize it’s weird he isn’t speaking, looking behind him at Maxwell…sulking. If that was the word for it. Was that the word for it? “I had no idea your opinion of me was so low,” he says, voice dark. Wilson knows the problem is he’s hurt, disgusted, with himself, even if that just manifests like anger. “If that is all our relationship is built on then I believe I should be going –“

“No,” Wilson says, “It isn’t. That just would not have been the first time –“ Wilson turns in on himself. _Never should have said. Now he won’t let it go._

“You never told me that.” Dark, but for a different reason. Murderous, almost. Wilson would be frightened if Maxwell had better connections.

“There are a lot of things I don’t tell you,” Wilson quips.

For a few moments he thinks it’s quiet because Maxwell is still fuming, fantasizing about hurting someone he doesn’t even know, because that’s just how Maxwell is. But he hears footsteps on the stairs, and knows he’s made a wrong turn again, watching Maxwell retreat up the stairs.

“ _Shit_.”

He doesn’t usually have to apologize for anything. He’s amenable to most of Maxwell’s ideas, and the ones he isn’t comfortable with tend to resolve themselves in other ways. This, though, this must be on him, because he feels awful about it, even if Maxwell was the one to start it. So Wilson is planning things, this conversation, the ensuing whatever-comes-next in his head as he walks the stairs, expecting Maxwell to be upstairs in the bedroom.

Except he isn’t. He’s putting a jacket on, getting ready to leave, and there goes Wilson’s plan out the window, and he stands there, blinking dumbly trying to process it all. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Maxwell says, voice curt, not even bothering to look at Wilson.

“Out where?” he presses, thumb to his lip so he can chew on his nails.

“I don’t know.”

“When will you be back?”

“Does it matter?” That response hurts Wilson more than it should. It feels like a rubber band constricting the flow of blood to his heart.

“Should I wait up for you?” He doesn’t really know what else there is to say. He can’t stop Maxwell leaving, not if he really wants to.

“You never do.” Wilson whimpers, actually, audibly whimpers at that, even though it’s true and his own damn fault and he has no right to be upset about it. But he’s pathetic, or the sound he makes is, because Maxwell finally turns to look at him, eyes narrowed. “What is it, Higgsbury? What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stay,” Wilson says. He manages to reach out, can’t stop himself from tugging on the hem of his sleeve like he’s a child talking to his father instead of a grown man pleading with his significant other.

Maxwell sighs, again, and Wilson just wants to collapse in on himself and stop existing. “Why? You take every opportunity you possibly can to ignore me, you hardly spend any time with me –“

“I enjoy your company.” Maxwell gives him a look that says he isn’t sure he believes him. “Things have just been busy recently.” _We live together, try again_. “I’m struggling in my classes.” _I’ve seen your grades, you’re doing fine._ “And this project is really fascinating.” _Geology is not your field of study. Lie again and I’m leaving now._ “And I’m just…not…a very interesting…person.”

Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere. “How so?” Maxwell says, because he’d rather Wilson told him than have to try and guess at what’s wrong. And Wilson’s embarrassed, looking away, cheeks as red as he’s ever seen them, so Maxwell pulls up a chair to sit in and pulls Wilson into his lap. Another shade brighter on Wilson’s face.

“Well, it’s just, you’ve told me so many amazing stories from when you were younger, but I –“ Maxwell’s cooled off now, clearly, pressing kisses on Wilson’s neck that make it hard for him to concentrate on what he’s saying. “Just –“ Kiss, kiss. “Don’t –“ Kiss, kiss. “Uhm –“ Kiss, kiss. “M-Measure up.”

He stops, enough to mutter the word “Nonsense” close to Wilson’s ear.

“It isn’t nonsense!” Wilson starts again, heart beating fast and uncomfortable in his chest, shaking slightly in his lover’s lap. “The most amusing story I’ve got from before I met you is when I –“ He tries looking away but Maxwell holds him steady, tilting his chin so their eyes are locking. “I accidentally burnt down my uncle’s garage, trying to experiment with sticks and flint.”

Maxwell laughs. It makes him melt a little. “It isn’t funny!” Wilson says, smiling despite himself. “I was severely punished for that. I nearly died, nearly killed my cousin with that.” And the frown is back, Wilson glancing at the ground. “And what will happen when I run out of things to say? When you grow bored of me and want to leave?”

“Never,” Maxwell insists, and now his fingers are playing at Wilson’s collarbone, pulling his shirt aside to press lips against his skin.

And even though he can feel teeth scraping, wants to believe his words, has seen how possessive Maxwell is of him, Wilson still worries. “But –“

He’s impatient now. “Am I bored of you now?”

“Well –“

“Am I still here?” Wilson nods, lips between his teeth. Feeling calmer already. “Then you needn’t worry. If I get bored –“ kisses at the dip where neck meets collar, where collar meets shoulder – “And I won’t –“ back up his neck, behind his ear – “We’ll make exciting memories of our own, together.”

“Now,” he says, standing up, sliding Wilson off of him. “Get your damn coat on.”

Wilson almost ducks as the garment is tossed at him. Frowning. He still puts it on. “Why?”

“I told you,” Maxwell smirks. And this smile, _this smile_ is infuriating. “I want to go out.”


End file.
